


At dusk

by Iforgotmyformerusername



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending tho, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not kind to my boy in this one, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, Whump, tagged it as f/m but the focus is on the whump, then again I never really am, this is like 10 percent romance 40 percent worried-dad-Thursday and 50 percent whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iforgotmyformerusername/pseuds/Iforgotmyformerusername
Summary: For once life seems to be going well for Endeavour Morse. There are cases he can put his heart into, plenty of puzzles to solve and there’s even a new woman in his life, someone he adores above all.But it seems the universe just doesn’t want him to be happy.





	At dusk

**Author's Note:**

> (It’s me, I’m the universe, I want the boy to suffer.)  
> Lots of thanks goes to whumpslist who gave me this wonderful prompt and has been super patient with me those past few weeks while I wrote this!

Soft. Warm. Content.

That was how Morse would describe waking up that morning. That was how he would describe waking up most of his days lately. In the arms of a woman he loved very dearly. One of the first he had fallen in love with since… Well, since a long time.

He rolled on his back, the first rays of sunshine warming his face. They still had some time before they had to leave the comfort of the bed and get ready for the work.

Soft lips caressed his cheek and he smiled. “Thought you were still asleep.”

“You thought wrong then didn’t you.”

He opened his eyes to look at the woman beside him. After almost two months of dating he was still stunned by Veronica’s beauty, even when her short auburn hair was tousled with sleep. There was always a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and her lips were the softest he had ever known. Those lips now turned up in a smile.

“What are you looking at?”

“A dream.” He answered truthfully, and okay, maybe not yet fully awake.

Veronica laughed. “Silly.” She leaned in and their lips touched for a few wonderful seconds. Then Veronica pulled away and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“It’s the truth.” Morse told her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and getting up himself. The warmth of the covers was a lot appealing without her next him. “Would I lie to you?”

Veronica turned to him, grinning. “You would. For one, we haven’t yet gone for that pick-nick you promised me weeks ago.”

He laughed at that. “That wasn’t a lie though, that can still happen.”

“With both our schedules? We’d be lucky to have an afternoon for ourselves before the end of the summer.”

He had to agree with her on that. Veronica worked at the Oxford Mail, as a reporter for Ms. Frazil. It was through her that Morse and Veronica had come into contact a few months back, but her job also meant the occasional overtime and calls in the middle of the night if something big went down. It wasn’t too different from his own working hours, so it happened often that he was free when she wasn’t and the other way around.

“We’re up early today though, so we have a little more time this morning.” He said, searching her closet for the few clothes he had left at her place in case he stayed the night. “We can at least have a nice breakfast.”

Veronica patted his shoulder lightly, already having gathered her own clothing for the day. “Your turn to make something today isn’t it? I’ll just hop into the shower real quick. Oh and there are still some eggs in fridge I believe.”

Morse snorted, he was pretty sure it was her turn, but he got dressed and made his way to the kitchen nonetheless. If laying the table and getting the kettle boiled was the price to pay for a relaxed morning together he’d have no trouble paying it.

Ever since he had started dating Veronica he had been eating a lot better. Food tasted ten times better if there was someone with him to enjoy it and whereas he normally would be mulling over work and forgetting to actually eat his food until it had grown cold, now he felt he owned it to Veronica to pay a little more attention, be it to the conversation they were having or just her presence if they ate in silence. Breakfast had become a pleasant affair and this time had been no different.

He was just depositing his dishes in the sink to wash off later when a cheerful melody coming through the window in the kitchen pulled him from his thoughts. Veronica turned to him with a grin.

“Oh no,” he said, but a smile traced his lips, “we aren’t going to get ice-cream at what, 8 o’clock in the morning.”

Veronica just grabbed his hand and pulled him along to the door, stepping into her shoes and handing him his. “See it as a taste of the pick-nick you still owe me. Come on, we have some time left.”

Ten minutes later and 2 shillings poorer Morse found himself walking down the street that very same summer morning, cranberry flavoured ice-cream in one hand and Veronica’s hand in the other, enjoying the morning sunlight. This was already the third time in a few weeks he was pulled along for ice-cream way too early in the morning but despite his protests he actually really enjoyed it.

He often thought about how this relationship had made him a lot softer in just a few months. Before he had met Veronica he would never have even thought about spending a few minutes of his day to get ice-cream, rather preferring to show up for work a bit sooner if he happened to have woken early, but now he found himself looking forward to small things like this a lot more. He squeezed Veronica’s hand gently to let her know he appreciated her.

She opened her mouth to say something but then she peered over his shoulder, brows furrowing in confusion. "Is it just me or is that van following us?"

Morse spun around and eyed the black van that was indeed driving awfully close to their side of the street, now slowing down to a stop beside them. He tightened his grip on her hand and automatically pushed her away from the van, positioning himself between her and the street.

The door swung open and two men stormed out of the van. One of them was swinging a bat and their faces were covered by balaclava’s. Before Morse could process what exactly was happening they were pulling him and Veronica apart and punched the detective in the stomach. He doubled over and gasped for breath, ice-cream forgotten on the ground.

What the-

One of the men had grabbed a hold of Veronica and tried to twist her arms behind her back. Own pain suddenly forgotten Morse was upon the man in seconds, but something heavy came down upon his shoulder with a sickening crunch and he screamed in pain, tears clouding his vision.

Through the static in his ears he heard Veronica shouting his name as she kicked and stomped, trying to tear herself away from the man holding her. Morse moved towards her again and even managed to get in a good kick before the man with the bat was on him again, knocking him to the ground and roughly dragging him into the direction of the van.

"Hey- Stop!" Morse shouted, struggling against the man with all his might. Waves of pain shot from his shoulder through his entire left arm, leaving it dangling useless at his side as the other was held in a vice grip behind his back.

Veronica had managed to claw her attacker's mask off his face, revealing a bearded man only a few years older than themselves. Morse saw her waver for half a second, the hesitation providing the other man with enough opportunity to punch her in her face and kick her back roughly. There was a loud bang as her head hit the side of the van and she crumbled to the ground like a rag doll.

Morse saw his life crash down right before his eyes. "No no no!" 

The person holding him back dragged him into the van and he struggled and fought, the unconscious form of Veronica never leaving his minds eye. To his relief he could hear people running towards them and he was about to shout for help, but the first man quickly slammed a hand against his mouth.

"Quick!" The man told his partner, and with one more blow to his head Morse's world turned to black.

* * *

His head ached and his legs were numb from sitting on his knees for so long. It was dark and when he had first opened his eyes Morse had been under the impression that it was because it was night time and he had just woken up from some weird dream. But the memories had returned soon enough and the events that had taken place had become clearer than any remnants of a nightmare would’ve been. Him and Veronica on their way back from getting ice-cream, the van coming seemingly out of nowhere and the men in balaclava’s jumping out and attacking them both.

His head was pounding and there was something absolutely wrong with his shoulder. Worry for the safety of Veronica was overwhelming his own fear however and it had allowed him to struggle against the rope that held his arms up above his head despite the agony it shot through his shoulder. More restraints kept his ankles in place on the ground and he hadn’t managed to get up or move into a more comfortable position. As a last resort he had called out in the dark, hoping to get a response if Veronica was here in the room with him. There had been no answer.

How long had he sat here now? It felt like hours but could’ve very well only been one. Now that the initial panic had subsided a bit he realised that neither the room nor time of day were what hindered his sight. His eyelashes brushed gently against some sort of fabric when he blinked; he didn’t see anything because they -whoever ‘they’ were- had blindfolded him.

A door opened with a loud bang, startling the living hell out of him.

“Who’s there?” He called.

Footsteps were heading towards him.

“Where’s Veronica?”

They stopped right in front of him and Morse felt his breath quicken. Why didn’t they say something?

“Release me immediately, I’m a police officer-” A hand was around his throat, squeezing his windpipe shut and effectively shutting him up. He twisted and gurgled, desperate for air.

“A police officer, yeah yeah, we know.” The voice was low, annoyed. The man released him and Morse gasped for precious air, gulps quickly turning into a coughing fit. “But more importantly,” The stranger continued, “You’re the boyfriend of that reporter girl we didn't manage to get.”

“Ver-Veronica?” Despite his shortness of breath he still managed to put a little venom behind his words. “Where is she, what have you done to her?”

“We haven’t done shit to her, that's what I just said stupid. Though I still think we should’ve brought her here instead of you. Would have taken you both as a matter of fact, if you two hadn’t caused such a ruckus and attracted that much attention.”

They didn’t have Veronica. Morse breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for that.

“I guess we’ll have to make do with just you. May be for the best though,” the man clicked his tongue, “wouldn’t have liked to torture a girl anyway. Don’t think I’ll have much trouble getting answers out of you.”

Answers? They were after information? There were plenty of important things they could want to get out of a copper, but why had they wanted them both? Whatever it was, Morse was glad Veronica wasn’t here to find out. Though the thought that she was at best lying injured -he refused to think about that other option- on the street somewhere weighed heavily on his mind.

“Whatever it is you want, you won’t get it from me.” He said, more boldly now. A fist rammed against his abdomen was the answer he got in return. The restraints kept him from curling in on himself and he wheezed, once again lost for breath.

“You _will_ tell us what we want to know.” The man sounded angry now. Probably not a good thing. “Where is James Wilson hiding?”

Wait. “..Who?”

“James. Wilson. Where is he?”

Was he supposed to know someone with that name? Morse shook his head, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Was it a codename of sorts? Had they hit his head harder than he had thought?

“Quit your games boy, I know there was a reporter asking about his story and I know it's your Veronica who eventually found his hiding spot.” The footsteps moved in front of him and Morse realised the man had started to pace.

"I told you, I’ve never heard that name before.” The detective said, voice rising in the hopes of being heard.

“Don’t play me for a fool.” The man snapped. “She told you. There’s no way she wouldn’t have.”

 _Told_ him? They thought Veronica would’ve told him something like that? That they liked to discuss classified information with each other at night? He was silent for a second or two, taken aback by the clear conviction in the man’s voice. Then, despite the situation, he actually laughed out loud. A hoarse and rough laugh which held more irony than actual humour, but a laugh nonetheless.

They had the wrong guy.

Well, not the wrong guy per se, but they actually thought he knew something. They actually thought they could get something out of him. But he didn’t know! 

The room had fallen silent and he chuckled, trying to hold on to that laugh, to the dry sense of irony of the entire situation, because his lower lip was trembling and his throat ached as if there was something stuck in it. He didn’t know shit about what they were talking about, he didn’t know _shit_ , and that meant that he was stuck here for nothing. They had beaten him and tied him up and it was all for nothing because _he didn’t know_. Surely they would let him go once they saw that too, right? He wasn’t of any use, they could let him go, back to feeling safe and loved. They _had_ to.

“Please. She hasn’t told me anything.” He whispered, desperation creeping into his voice.

A hand grabbed his chin hard enough to bruise and suddenly there was something cold and sharp against his cheek, making him jerk away in surprise.

“I don’t believe you. We saw how close you two were, holding hands and spending the night like lovesick teenagers in their first relationship. I know you know what she was up to.”

“I don’t know! I really don’t! We hardly ever talked about work!” 

The man released his chin, but not before dragging the knife down his cheek harshly. Morse winced at the sting and turned his head quickly, feeling blood spilling from the wound.

“You’re a bloody detective.” His capturer spat. “Even if she didn’t tell you, you figured it out didn’t you? You’re just too stubborn to tell us. But no matter. Just looks like we will have to do this the hard way.”

Morse's breath stilled. The cold tip of the knife got placed on the bruised skin above his left collarbone, dragging along it. Not deep enough to cut but enough for him to know it could do so without a second thought.

"So. Want to tell me where Wilson is or am I going to have to use this?” The light pressure on his injured shoulder was already enough to make him grit his teeth.

“I told you, I don’t know this person, I cannot tell you where he is. There really is no need for all this.” He had to talk fast now, hoping to convince the man of his point before he could hurt him too much. The knife dipped in his skin, heading quickly for his collarbone as he cried out in pain.

“I’m telling the truth!” He shouted desperately.

The sharp edge was lifted from his skin, but instead of being relieved he could only fear when and where it would return again. Suddenly the voice was very close to his ear, making the hairs on his neck rise. "I. Don't. Believe. You."

White hot pain seared from his neck to his fingertips as the knife was plunged in the flesh of his shoulder. Morse screamed, tears blurring his vision as his attacker twisted the knife viciously before pulling it out of the wound. Blood was flowing freely from the wound and Morse whimpered, trembling with both pain and fear.

A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back while the sharp edge of the knife grazed his neck, way too close to drawing blood. The detective hardly dared to breathe, heart pounding in his chest.

"Does that hurt? Hm?” The warm air told him the man's face was close to his. “Consider this a little taste of what I’ve got in store. I’ll give you some time to think this over carefully. If you still decide to be difficult we’re going to make you talk in ways you certainly won’t enjoy as much as I will.”

The knife disappeared from his neck and his head was released. A shudder went down his spine as Morse listened to the retreating footsteps. The man didn’t even seem to want to entertain the idea that he really, honestly didn’t know anything. He would have nothing to make the pain stop if they were going to try and torture the answer out of him either. No pieces of information to give them to ease his suffering.

When he heard the heavy door close and the footsteps disappear he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, the blindfold soon growing heavy and wet with the grief they held.

* * *

Thursday jotted things down in a little worn down notebook he had managed to find at the bottom of one of his drawers.

“At what time did you see him leave the house?” He asked the woman in front of him, writing down the answer when it came.

Normally it was Morse keeping track of dates and timestamps, but he hadn’t seen the lad at the station before he had left. It was likely he was with that new girl he was seeing, the one Thursday kept forgetting the name of. Morse wasn’t usually one for oversleeping and Thursday didn't mind turning a blind eye this one time, the case they were working on was going slowly anyway and he could handle questioning a possible witness on his own.

“I already thought it was odd.” The woman, Karin Ormwood, told him. “Leaving at that time in the afternoon? He’s up to no good I told myself, and right I was!”

“Is that so?” Thursday hummed, going over the details in the notebook again. The woman tended to have a bit of what her son had called an ‘overactive imagination’, but it looked like she was honest about what she had seen at least.

“Yeah, ‘t is true! Saw him leaving through his window I did, right from his kitchen.”

Or, perhaps not. “The window at the east side of the house you mean? That one that is blocked from view by the rose bush?”

The woman’s cheeks coloured a light pink. “Well, I er, I must’ve taken a quick step outside at that time, to water the plants perhaps.”

Watering the plants at ten fifty in the evening? Despite her liking to blow things out of proportion she wasn’t the best of liars. Thursday let it slide. “Thank you for your time Mrs. Ormwood.”

“Of course, of course, it’s my pleasure really. I’ll see you out.” She walked him to the door and only closed it when he started the engine of the car and drove off.

Somehow the DI had expected Morse to be there when he returned to the station. He asked around a little but no one had seen him yet and it was nearing 11 o’ clock already. Surely the lad wasn’t still sleeping? If he had really lost track of time he would’ve called by now, apologizing and telling them he was on his way.

Thursday pushed his worry away, there was probably a good reason why he was this late. Just in case, and to ease his own conscious a bit, he sat down behind his desk and rang the number to Morse’s flat.

Half a minute went by without anyone answering, and when it slowly crawled past a minute he put the receiver down a little harder than intended. So far for easing his mind.

It didn’t mean anything yet however, the constable could very well be at the girl’s place. No cause for worry, really.

It was however a cause for worry when two hours later there still wasn’t a sign of the young man anywhere. Thursday rung the flat again and had just accepted the fact that he wasn’t getting an answer now either when someone knocked on the door to his office and let themselves in without waiting for an answer.

“Ms. Frazil.” Thursday was surprised to see her. Though not at all unwelcome, he had rather hoped to see a certain someone else barging in truth to be told. “What can I help you with?”

“Inspector.” The editor of the Oxford Mail greeted. “I had hoped to have a word with Morse actually, but I see he’s not around?”

“He isn’t, no, though I really expect him here any minute now. Shall I ask him to call you as soon as?” Thursday offered, wondering why Ms. Frazil had taken the effort to come all the way when she usually just phoned.

The woman shook her head, looking rather sad all of the sudden. “No need. I suppose he hasn’t been here at all this morning?”

Thursday’s brows furrowed, how could she have known that? But then something occurred to him, wasn’t Morse’s lady friend working for Ms. Frazil? He sat up a little straighter. “Don’t tell me…”

“Veronica is missing as well. She isn’t answering her phone and should’ve been at the office hours ago.”

If that was a coincidence Thursday would eat his hat.

Dorothea Frazil seemed to think along the same lines. She pressed her lips together. “I fear something has happened.”

* * *

“I don’t-" 

“Wrong.” The blow to his torso left him gasping for breath. “Want to try that again?”

“Really-”

The worst thing was that he didn’t see the kicks and punches coming so he couldn’t brace himself for them. This one hit him on his left cheekbone, just above the cut that had been made earlier.

He kept silent this time, but that wasn’t what his tormenter wanted either. Morse was sure he felt his already bruised ribs crack under the power of the kick. He grunted, nausea was rising and a sour taste made itself known. Another punch to his face send a wave of pain through his nose, causing something warm and wet to flow down his lips rapidly and drip down his chin.

The man in front of him stepped back and sniffed. “You ready to talk yet?”

The detective was too busy getting his breath back to answer, inhaling gulps of air and releasing them shakily. His chest was on fire and his head felt like exploding. He didn’t even feel his shoulder anymore, which was probably a bad thing though right now he was just glad he didn’t have to feel that pain too.

“I don’t know.” He stammered. The man had to believe him, he _had_ to. “I really don’t.” His voice cracked and he hated it, but he would’ve given anything for his attacker to see the truth. Anything to stop this pain. It was weak, he knew, and he felt pathetic for thinking like that, but he couldn’t change it. He just wanted to go home, work his cases with everyone at the station, fill in his crossword puzzles and hold Veronica in his arms again. Feel safe and happy once more.

But he didn’t get a warm embrace or a soft touch, he only got more punches and more pain until eventually he could swear he saw stars. His head grew heavier and heavier and after God knows how long his chin hit his chest, the bindings on his wrists the only thing keeping him from sagging on the ground.

His captor laughed at that, Morse noticed through the haze of pain. One second the sound seemed to come from somewhere to his left, the next the tip of the knife was under his chin and he automatically lifted his head up and away from the sharp edge, feeling the warm breath of the man on his cheek as he talked.

“Don’t you worry,” the man said, “blood isn’t the only way I know to make people talk. You will tell me, in due time.”

The knife was gone and for a moment Morse dared to wish he would be left alone. Right before he passed out he felt what was a minor pain in comparison to the previous beating prick in the back of his neck. The voice he had grown familiar with over the past few hours sounded sinister.

“Oh you’ll like this one.”

* * *

Thursday turned the key in the lock and swung the door open.

“Anyone home?” He called, without actually expecting an answer. If anyone had been home they would’ve likely responded to either the phone calls made to this address or to Thursday knocking on the door just now.

Morse’s flat hadn’t given them much to go on and the inspector hoped they would at least learn a little here.

Dorothea Frazil stepped over the doorstep of Veronica’s house behind him, taking in every little detail in the corridor and the tiny living room behind it. “They wouldn’t have just... left, would they?”

Thursday had asked her if she really wanted to come along, arguing that it was more of a police-matter than a friendly visit now, but one look from her shut him up soon enough. That and the fact that he was very willing to believe that this was just a misunderstanding of some kind and not a police-matter at all.

“Morse wouldn’t. Not without letting anyone know at least, he takes the job too seriously for that.”

Ms. Frazil pursed her lips as they made their way through the empty house. “And Veronica is working a case she’s invested in, wouldn’t be like her to just abandon that either.”

She crossed the living room to the small kitchen. “They’ve had breakfast here.” She said, eyeing the dishes in the sink, bread crumbs and remains of eggshells still sticking to the plates.

The inspector followed behind her, running a hand over the table. There were breadcrumbs present on there as well. “This is where they stayed the night then. Both of them, it seems.” Two empty cups stood in the sink next to the plates. Unless Veronica had another guest over one of them must’ve been Morse’s.

Ms. Frazil turned to him, one eyebrow high. “There seems to be an advantage to not doing the dishes straight away after all.”

The rest of the house didn’t give them much more information and before they knew it they were outside again, pulling the door closed behind them and returning the spare key to one of Veronica’s neighbours from whom they had borrowed it.

“Well,” Ms. Frazil sighed as they both got into the car again. “That didn’t get us too far."

Thursday revved the engine and pulled out of the parking spot. “At least we know they came home tonight, and where they stayed. With a little luck we’ll find out where they went next.”

They had already asked the neighbour they had gotten the key from if he had seen them leave the house this morning. He told them he hadn’t, but perhaps someone else in the neighbourhood had spotted them. Thursday would ask some uniforms to do the door-to-door while they filed an official missing-persons report.

It was a right mess this. He was still trying to convince himself that both Morse and Veronica would turn up soon. Hopefully they were already back at work, laughing their asses off because Ms. Frazil and he had immediately assumed the worst. Because he did. Deep down there was a worry gnawing at him, the fear that something really bad had happened. If there had been an accident they would've heard something by now wouldn't they?

Little did he know that he wouldn’t have to wait long for news; they had hardly taken five steps over the threshold of the station when a WPC came towards them. There was a woman in the hospital, she told them. It might be one of Ms. Frazil’s employees, but the woman was unconscious and no name has been confirmed yet.

Thursday's heart skipped a beat. Their hopes of this being something minor had been dashed in one sentence and the inspector could see his own fears reflected on the face of the woman beside him.

“I’ll drive you.” He told her, turning back around to the car. Ms. Frazil nodded tensely and followed him.

Thursday’s first instinct was to reach out and try to ease her worries, but he knew the best he could do right now was make empty promises that she didn't need. They hadn't heard anything about Morse yet either. Maybe there had indeed been an accident and Morse had chosen to stay with her in the hospital. Though surely he would've called to let them know, right? Or, and Thursday hardly dared to think about it, had he been hurt as well? Was he lying unconscious somewhere without anyone knowing of it?

They arrived at the hospital in record time and Thursday stopped the car right in front of the entrance to let Ms. Frazil out before haphazardly parking the car in the first spot he could find and going after her.

His footsteps echoed loudly against the pristine white tiles and the hospital scent invaded his nose, reminding the inspector of all the times he had been here before. Very few of them had been pleasant visits and he doubted this one would be either.

"We've had the woman in our care since this morning" A doctor was telling Ms. Frazil when Thursday caught up to them, following the pair down the corridor. "She hasn't woken up yet and had no identification on her so we had no idea where to look for friends or family."

"But you think it's Veronica?" Ms. Frazil asked.

"It was sheer coincidence actually. This way." The doctor told them, turning to a smaller corridor to the right leading to the private rooms. "A colleague of mine thought she recognized her from a picture in the paper. Though we can't be sure of course. Here she is."

The woman in the bed couldn’t have been a lot older than 27, brown hair a stark contrast against the white sheets and her pale face. Thursday stayed in the opening of the door while Ms. Frazil made her way to the unconscious girl.

"It's her alright. God she looks awful."

Bruises littered the woman's face and Thursday had the unpleasant feeling that there were even more they couldn't see.

Ms. Frazil reached out to Veronica, but she hesitated halfway through, hand falling back at her side. She turned to the doctor, face twisted in worry and barely concealed anger. "Whatever happened to her?"

"We aren't sure," the doctor answered, "she was found on the sidewalk like this. There appears to have been a struggle but I'm unfamiliar with the details, you'll have to ask the city police about those."

Ms. Frazil looked at Thursday expectantly. "First I've heard of it." said he. "But it may not have landed on my desk anyway. If a report was made I'll find it." Ms. Frazil nodded her thanks and looked back at her protégée.

"Who would do something like this?" She asked quietly, sagging down in the chair next the bed. The chair Thursday had actually hoped to see someone else in.

Where was the lad? Had he been present during the fight? He must have. The doctor had already left the room so Thursday turned towards the corridor and stopped him a few paces down the hall. "Excuse me doctor, just a second. Was there by any chance a young man with her when she was found?"

The man looked pensive. "No, I do not believe so." he said. "But let me check the register to make sure."

"If you could, thank you." 

But there wasn't any mention of another person being with Veronica in the register either. Thursday felt his stomach churn. It was as if the lad had disappeared off the face of the earth. And if Morse’s girlfriend looked like this, then what in the seven blazes could have happened to the constable?

* * *

The smell of blood was overwhelming and there was someone walking around on the attic above him; he could hear the wooden planks creak under the weight. There were distorted faces of old family members floating in front of him, staring at him, laughing at him. The blood was flowing from their mouths and their eyes and he might’ve been screaming. He must have been screaming because aunt Jill hasn’t said anything for quite some time now and there was someone making an awful lot of noise.

The stairs started to creak now, the person on the attic headed downstairs and Morse knew he should run. Now. While he still could. But the faces of old blocked his way out and the coppery smell in the air was burning in his nostrils.

Literally burning.

His heart leapt in his throat and he flailed trying to get the fire out but something was holding his hands back and he couldn’t reach it, he couldn’t reach the flames, they were going to burn his nose and then his brain and it would kill him, he was sure of it. And still aunt Jill wasn’t helping him. He always believed her to be the kindest family member from his father’s side, but she’s just standing there and Morse is led to believe he was wrong about her all along.

Then she morphed into the face of Rosalind Calloway, pale and cold and _dead_. The flames danced in front of his eyes now and he shook his head to get rid of them but it just fuelled the fire and his nose burned and his head burned and now Veronica stood in front of him, talking to him without any sound leaving her mouth. He shouted her name desperately, his throat was raw and aching but he had to tell her he was sorry, nothing else matters. Her head was bleeding and her eyes were closed and suddenly she looked as dead as Rosalind Calloway. Sorry didn’t help anymore, he was too late. He’s always too late.

There was no escaping the faces around him, he couldn’t move and even if he could the faces would follow him, haunting him like ghosts out for revenge. He knew this for a fact. He had been here before after all. There was a memory nagging at him but he was unable to reach it.

Aunt Jill came back and she was shaking her head but Morse didn’t know why she was so disappointed. The flames were leaping and burning and soon his entire body was on fire and he screamed and screamed because it hurt so bad. Why didn’t anyone help him?

The voices and the flames kept haunting him and he cried out until he didn’t have any energy left. Then he just sobbed, begging for all of it to go away, pure terror sending tremors through his body. It’s ages before his request was finally granted, and when the world started fading away he didn't even try to hold on.

When he came to his senses again he peeled his eyes open carefully and realised with a great wave of relief that the world was black.

Just black. No faces, no fire, just black.

The muscles in his arms were straining with the effort of holding his weight up and his throat felt like sandpaper. Breathing was difficult, the more he came to the more prominent the pain became and every breath he took cost him more energy than he had to spare. But he’d rather have this than what he guesses must’ve been hallucinations.

The cold and heavy sense of fear was seated deep in his chest, refusing to let him go. Even after several minutes he was still shaking with the aftermath of whichever drug it was they had given him. But the world was dark and quiet now, and he took comfort in that.

The respite was short-lived however.

“I suppose you liked that little show? The entire neighbourhood would’ve heard you scream if we hadn’t been this far out of town.” The familiar voice called out from across the room.

Morse swallowed. If only someone _had_ heard him. If only someone would come and get him out of this. Footsteps made their way towards him. Solid floor, the detective noted, not wood. There may not even be an attic in this place.

“Changed your mind yet? There’s more where that came from you know.”

“No.” Morse croaked, his voice failing him. “I don’t know about- about that person. But please don’t, don’t…” Don’t inject me with that stuff again, he wanted to say. Don’t let me see those nightmares again, don’t make me live through that for a third time. But he wasn’t sure if it was worth the energy to say that all out loud.

The man sighed deeply. “Feared as much. Stubborn one, you. We should’ve taken your girl with us after all, saved ourselves time. Well, guess you just haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

He could feel the presence of the man inching closer and Morse scrambled away desperately. “No! No, please, _please_ don’t!”

There was a hand in his hair holding his head still and once again he felt a needle prick in his neck. Panic was swallowing him whole and hot tears fell down the blindfold and ran over his cheeks. 

The man just laughed at him. “The drug hasn’t even taken hold and you’re crying already. There’s only one way to make this easier on yourself boy. Tell us.” Morse shook his head, no energy left to try and talk him out of it. “No matter," the man said casually, "it wouldn’t have stopped this episode anyway. We’ll speak again when you’re done screaming."

And with that Morse was once again left alone with his nightmares and his tears.

* * *

She woke slowly. Sound was the first thing that returned, she could hear a calm and rhythmic beeping nearby and, if she concentrated a little harder, soft voices a bit further away. But with concentrating came a terrible headache and she was tempted to fall back into the soft nothingness again. Veronica Wilde had never been one for giving in easily however and she pried her eyes open just to spite the voice telling her to go back to sleep.

The light was harsh and unkind to her headache and she groaned involuntarily. The first thing that came to mind was _I'll never drink this much again_. She didn't even recognize her surroundings, it had been long ago indeed since she had passed out on some stranger's sofa after a night out.

Lifting her head wasn't such a good idea as it had seemed and she settled with just turning her head left and right to try and figure out where she had ended up this time. The beeping noise seemed to come from a machine, showing some kind of diagram Veronica couldn't see clearly. She lifted a hand to brush away the hairs that had fallen into her face and noticed a needle sticking out of the back of her hand. A needle?

Oh.

Ohhh.

Hospital.

Wait, hospital?

She pushed herself on her elbows and looked around properly this time. The machine she had seen was monitoring her heart rate of course and she could hit herself for not figuring that out sooner. Not too hard though because it still felt like her brain was trying to break her skull open and escape.

She let herself fall back on the pillow and stared at the white ceiling. What had happened? Had she been in a car accident? If so she remembered nothing of it. All she remembered was… was breakfast. She thinks. With eggs. And Morse was there as well, because the eggs had been boiled a little bit longer and she always kept them soft. Veronica smiled, happy to be able to remember at least something.

The door to her left swung open and a familiar person stepped through, holding what looked like a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Veronica?" Ms. Frazil asked as she walked towards her. "I'm gone for two seconds and you decide to wake right at that time." The woman smiled at her and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." Veronica replied. "What happened?"

Ms. Frazil put the plastic cup aside and made a face. "We were rather hoping you could tell us actually."

"What do you mean, hasn't there been some kind of accident?" Movement behind the glass window next to the door caught her attention and she scrunched her eyes. "There hasn't been an accident." She answered her own question, looking back to Ms. Frazil with wide eyes and pushing herself up again. "Why is there a copper stationed at my door?" And more importantly- "Where is Morse?"

Ms. Frazil looked at her with troubled eyes but Veronica knew that no matter what had happened, the woman would never lie to her to safe her feelings. "We don't know," she answered, "we believe he might've been taken."

"Taken? But by who..? Why?" There were flashes of memories drifting by, like a word balancing on the tip of your tongue without ever falling completely off. Ice-cream. Something about ice-cream. Strawberry flavoured, her favourite.

"A van!" She called, desperately trying not to let the memory escape her grip. "There was a black van."

"Veronica." Ms. Frazil had put her hands up, trying to calm her down, but she was so close now.

"A black van, and men, two men! One of them had a baseball bat and they," she looked up, worry edged in her face, "they hurt Morse. Did they take him?"

A face, the bearded face of someone she recognized from her research. She shook her head. "He hadn’t seen me before so he didn’t recognize me, but I know him. I know who took Morse."

* * *

Sure, Thursday had thrown the occasional punch here and there, the occasional beating to right a wrong, but never before had it felt so justified and satisfying as it did now. And yet this time he didn't have time to linger or savour the moment.

After Veronica had woken up and told them what had happened and who the people involved were it hadn't taken them long to find this place, and when they found the men responsible for this Thursday couldn’t resist giving them a taste of their own medicine. Well, for as long as he had allowed himself to that is.

He had left them in the capable hands of the officers that he had brought along with him and was swiftly searching the rest of the building now. Finding Morse was a priority, wherever he was. With every door he opened he prayed to whichever god was out there that they wouldn't be too late. He would never forgive himself if they were.

The next door he encountered, the one to the back room, was the first to be locked. This had to be the place.

It took less than a minute to break the lock and swing the door open. It took even less for his heart to drop down in his chest at the sight that greeted him.

Morse.

Down on his knees on the ground, wrists bound together high above his head. There was a dark blindfold covering his eyes and his head had sagged forward as if all the energy had left him. As if…

No.

Thursday rushed to Morse's side, gently lifting his head up and feeling for a pulse. It was there. Not nearly strong enough, but there.

"We're here!" he bellowed to the men still searching various places in the house. Using his pocketknife he cut through the ties that held Morse's hands tethered to the ceiling. The ropes had cut into his wrists, the wounds red and fiery. As he slowly lowered the detective to the ground he noticed the mess that was his left shoulder.

"Oh lad." Blood caked the entire area around what looked like a stab wound and it wasn’t hard to see that at least his collarbone was broken. Worry and anger clashed and Thursday was tempted to storm back and throw another punch at those responsible for this. It wouldn't help Morse any right now however, so instead he just focussed on getting him loose and taking the blindfold off the blood stained face.

PC Jones appeared in the door opening, looking at Morse on the ground with wide eyes for a few seconds before getting himself together and turning to Thursday. "The medics are on their way sir."

"Right. Thank you Jones." 

Right then Morse began to stir, fingers twitching and eyes slowly opening, blinking a few times to adjust to the light.

"You're safe now lad, it's alright." Thursday was quick to reassure him.

A pair of confused eyes focussed on him for a second before widening slightly. Without any warning Morse shot upright, attempting to crawl back but quickly sagging through his injured arm with a gasp. His eyes shot from Thursday to PC Jones and a strangled noise escaped his mouth.

"Morse? You're alright, it's just us." The lad tried to get his feet under him and get up but the inspector was quicker and held him down firmly. "Morse! You need to calm down, you'll hurt yourself."

The words didn’t seem to get through to him at all and Thursday just did the first thing that came to mind. Careful to avoid the major injuries he wrapped his arms around the detective, pushing his head against his shoulder with one arm and keeping him from flailing about with the other. The effect was almost instantaneous. With his face buried in the inspector’s coat Morse stopped his struggling and after a second or two Thursday could feel him relax ever so slightly.

A trembling hand grabbed the front of his coat. "You're real."

Thursday’s heart dropped down the last cliff. Had those bastards not thought physical wounds worse enough? What had they told him, what had they _done_ to the lad? He relaxed his grip now that Morse wasn't trying to flee anymore. "I'm real," he confirmed, "you really are safe."

They sat there until the ambulance personal rushed through the door and by the time they had lifted him on a stretcher Morse’s eyes had fallen shut again, the detective drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Later on, on the road to recovery in a hospital bed, holding the hand of Veronica who had fallen asleep in the comfortable chair next to him, Morse would muse on how lucky he had been. He had been through something terrible and it had left its traces, but both he and Veronica were still here to continue on despite it all. Thursday would have his back no matter what, and he would be forever grateful for that.

There were undoubtedly going to be days on which he would be reminded of all that had happened, nights in which nightmares would keep him up until early in the morning, but he knew that with the support he was getting now he would get through those as well.

For now he just sighed, closed his eyes and enjoyed the sun again.


End file.
